


Business as Usual

by sprinkles888



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Episode: s14e13 Lebanon, Gen, Sam Winchester Angst, Sam Winchester's Newsletter, Winchester (Supernatural) Family Drama, and a lot of emotions too, in which sam has a newsletter, post-episode s14e13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 18:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17709029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprinkles888/pseuds/sprinkles888
Summary: So, writing this week’s newsletter is going to be rough.





	Business as Usual

**Author's Note:**

> aofkdasl;fkajl;al; vlajlsdkjf lksdajflasdkfjl;akjflfjljlajl this episode KILLED ME
> 
> spoilers for s14e13 Lebanon

They’ve got about a million people they’ve got to worry about now. The alternate universe hunters, Jody and the girls, Donna, new Bobby, Mom, Cas, Jack, the list goes on and on. 

So, Sam sits down, just like he did that day a week or two into Dean’s Michael act when the pressure of so many people and so many things to do—and the fact that they had no idea where Dean was and that he’d somehow become in charge—threatened to choke him, drown him, curdle his stomach and scrape along the inside of his heart. He’d always loved words, loved language. Dean would’ve told him to talk it out, but _Dean hadn’t been there,_ so he pulled out his laptop and wrote. 

He ended up crashing there, at his desk, running on as little sleep as he could force his body to accept, and woke up when one of the hunters—he’d spaced on names for weeks—ducked his head in and asked about ammunition. 

But the document remained on his computer, cursor blinking in the middle of the word _Mississippi_. And he’d already provided phones to the hunters, something like this could cut down on a lot of miscommunication and confusion. 

He’d entitled the email _Business_ and it stuck.

And now he sits down every week and types it out. It’s a blessing, what with all of the hunters in every-which-direction and all of their various contacts wanting to stay informed on the status of the end-of-the-world.

This one though. He doesn’t want to write this one. 

He forces himself to start typing. The easy things first. 

_Jeff R. is out for the count with a broken leg, don’t call him for backup unless necessary._

_Team D took out the pack of chupacabra along Texas/Mexico border, great job guys! Everyone remember that dead livestock could be a sign of any number of monsters (or just natural causes), keep an eye out._

He leans back and cracks his knuckles, an awful habit he hasn’t managed to kick. It annoys Dean to no end. 

_AA Michael is still locked up in DW’s head, HQ searching for a permanent solution, we’ll keep you all informed._

He pauses, grits his teeth, and forces himself to admit—

_A possible, unlikely solution has been proposed. It is now functioning as the backup plan in case another fix can’t be found._

They deserve to know, the hunters, Bobby, everyone terrorized by Michael. Even if Sam will never allow it to happen, even if it’s not even a card in his deck, he can still use it to assuage fears. 

_Jack is recovering from hit he took, seems to be experiencing great improvement._

God, when was the last time he got to sit down and talk with Jack? This bit’s a lie, he has no idea, Jack could be burning through his soul right this second and Sam would have nothing he could do about it—

_Received shipment of ammo and firearms, if you are in need of supplies, don’t forget to stop by HQ or send in a shipping request._

_Attached are two training videos. Team G successfully performed an exorcism by trapping the demon in a Devil’s Trap, please review their methods. The second video, produced by CB, details how to create believable fake IDs for investigations._

_Don’t forget to mark any training-specific content you’ve captured during hunts in your email to HQ._

His chest is tight, and he can’t swallow. The lump in his throat feels less and less like a lump and more and more like a bubble ready to burst at any second. 

_SW & DW located Bart’s killer. Issue was resolved._

It all blurs together in the end, all the people they’ve killed, all the lives they’ve ended. 

Sam used to believe in potential. It’s so hard to believe in much anymore. He clings to what he can, the things that matter. 

_Store was raided for dangerous/useful artifacts. Relocated to HQ and archived for future use and study._

And there’s the kicker, the awful truth. Hope’s dangerous in their line of work sometimes. It’d come back to bite them in the—

_Unfortunately, local interest was an issue. Due to mishandling and unavoidable factors, three community members are now aware of the existence of the supernatural. If visiting/returning to Lebanon, be careful in speech and references to HQ._

His eyes are burning, itching. God, he needs sleep. 

He glances over to his bed, but thinks about Dean, who’d wandered away muttering about checking on the Impala (even though he’d done that earlier), and Mom, locking the door to her room quietly, and grits his teeth.

_Object retrieved from store caused a temporary temporal paradox in the timeline. Has since been resolved._

His face hurts, and that part of his chest too. His head’s been pounding since alternate timeline Cas decided to introduce it to a table. 

For a second he wonders at that. The fact that they’d been the eye of the storm in the paradox, the ache in his jaw that means it had happened, that it actually meant something. 

He right clicks and copies the text as it is, and opens up another composition tab. This one he’ll send to Mom, to Cas, to Jack. Cas already knows, wandering in just in time for Dean to need a listening ear Sam’s not sure he could’ve provided. Jack, he’ll explain it to in person. He owes him that much. 

And Mom wouldn’t want him telling people about her. 

He returns to the original email and deletes their addresses off the list of recipients. 

_Paradox also caused time-travel for individual from 2003. Refrain, if possible, from talking about John Winchester/the paradox to MW/DW unless prepared for issues._

He hopes they can read between the lines, hopes that everyone will automatically include him in that. It’s personal, it hurts.

God, it hurts.

_Reporting is now being sent to CB, remember to change your contacts for process._

Sam hates downtime. He can keep the wave back if he’s still moving, but the moment he stops, the tide catches up. 

_Chapter House 2 is now ready for resigengggg_

He frantically wipes at his eyes with his shaking fingers and locks his jaw in place so it stops wobbling. 

He backspaces, fixes, moves forward.

_residents or temporary occupation, if in the area, contact HQ for entrance._

In college, in those tiny, cramped dorm rooms, people had praised Sam for mediating, for his calm demeanor and ability deescalate situations. 

It’d been easy then, so many lifetimes ago, to put a lid on his emotions, to look at things logically and rationally. 

His lid has long since been shot into outer space. Emotions have never been—he and Dean—they—they—

_Contact has been established with hunting groups in AustrskIA_

Sam doesn’t even bother to fix it this time, he just pushes the laptop lid down and leans back in the chair, palms pressed to his eyes. Here, in the privacy of the room that he can call _his_ , he stops bothering to stop his jaw from wobbling. Here, he curls in on himself and wills away the pressure of the past few days, of the longing for just _something_ to be right, to be easy. 

He stands up from the chair and sits down on his bed, elbows on his legs, propping up his head with his hands. He stares into nothing for a while and waits for the tears to dry up. 

He’s so goddamn happy at the same time that it feels like someone’s reached into his chest and yanked out his ribs, and it hurts and aches and he thinks for a second—just a second—about the imagination games he’d play in the car when he was little, about getting home from school to find a mom to help him with homework, and Dean who’d ruffle his hair a little less like he was worried Sam would slip out of his fingertips.

And Dad, smiling, telling Sam that he was proud of how he did on the spelling test, on his math, in the field at his soccer game. 

He stands up and changes into sweatpants and a t-shirt Dean had thrown at his face sometime a couple years ago when they’d driven through Willow Creek—the one with the bigfoot silhouette on it. 

He spares a glance at his computer and decides that it can wait a few more hours, and then he turns out the light and slips out of the room. 

Dean’s in the garage, maybe he’ll want a beer too, if he’s not already halfway through another bottle of whiskey. 

**Author's Note:**

> hnnnnnngggggg
> 
> yell at me about this episode


End file.
